Just First Aid
by singingstarryknights
Summary: Sometimes the best first aid is to just kiss it where it hurts. GregSara


Just First Aid

…

Sometimes the best first aid is to just kiss it where it hurts.

…

"Ouch."

"Quit squirming."

"Ah, Sara, that stings."

"If you'd stop moving, it wouldn't sting as much."

"It's really not that big of a deal."

"Look at you, drop the tough guy act. Greg, seriously, stop."

"Ouch! Are you trying to kill me?" Greg winced, pulling away from her touch, flinching as she frowned at him, cotton ball of Benzalkonium Chloride in her hand. He was being a baby, she was only trying to help, and here he was whining about a little stinging.

The encounter with the suspect had been frightening enough, and he was tired from filing the reports on the incident, the last place he wanted to go was the hospital. That was the logical train of thinking that had resulted in him here, sitting on the edge of Sara's bathtub, allowing her to dress his injuries. And here he was, Sara kneeling in the space between his knees, scouring his skin with probably unnecessary first aid cleansers. It was just a few scratches. He was fine.

His mentor- well, partner, now- shook her head at him, and leaned over his knee to reach the butterfly bandages, the bottom curve of her chest coming into contact with his thigh. Good God, she was killing him, and she wasn't even trying.

It didn't help much that she had stripped down, and thrown on a thin tank top and a pair of running shorts, either. The rain continued to batter against the bathroom window, with no hope of letting up, and he vaguely wondered how he was going to get out of here with his dignity. Or without doing something stupid. This was like some wet dream gone horribly awry. She leaned a hand near his knee for support as she reached further over and grabbed whatever bandage she wanted, and he fought a grin as she inched closer to him, the soft plain of her stomach coming in contact lightly with the crotch of his jeans, her attention concentrated fully on applying the butterfly clasp to close the gash just above his eye.

"Getting into a brawl with a suspect is not funny, Gregory." Her glance flickered to his, catching his eye for a brief moment, before focusing back on his eye.

"He was getting away."

"You aren't a police officer. You aren't supposed to chase down the suspects."

"Yeah, and let Brass scale the chain link fence? No thanks. I'm faster than him and you know it. And I caught the guy, didn't I? Grissom can kill me later." Greg frowned at her, and to his surprise, she let a smile twitch at the corner of her lips. Alright, they could play it this way.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Liar." He tossed her a grin, but she dabbed hydrocortisone cream on the cut on his cheek with a bit more pressure. He inhaled sharply, flinching. "Jesus, woman. Enough already."

"Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"You're holding out on me. You're bleeding, and if you won't go to the damn hospital, at least you can let me look at- Gregory Hojem Sanders. Don't _make_ me strip you myself." There was a sudden determination in her voice, however soft it was, that told him that it was in his best interest to comply. He fingered the buttons of the plain oxford shirt he had put on before this horrible shift, and he didn't even try to hide the cringe that swept across his features as he eased the piece of clothing off his shoulders. She stood, breaking their contact, probably, he figured, because she realized just how close they were.

He shed the shirt, letting it fall in a rumpled ball in her tub, leaving the thin, once-white undershirt, smattered now with bits of blood from where he had indeed been bleeding. She turned back to him, with an expression reading business and efficiency, and he watched as it instantly fell off her delicate features, replaced by concern and compassion.

"Oh Greg." Her words came as a whisper, and he watched as her eyes began to water.

Whoa.

He hadn't wanted to make her cry.

It wasn't even that bad. If she had known that the suspect had had a switchblade on him, she would have made him go to the hospital. It was just a scratch. He was fine. It wasn't even deep enough for stitches. The dried blood made it look that much worse. Okay, maybe he should have told her about the switchblade.

"Sara, I'm fine."

"Your body is telling me otherwise, jackass." She wiped the tears that had welled in her eyes hastily, but only once, and they returned quickly, falling down her cheeks lethargically. "Why wouldn't you just go to the hospital?"

"Why would I go to the hospital for a few bandaids?" Greg peeled his undershirt off gently, wincing for a mere moment only when the fabric of the shirt obstructed her view of his face.

"I hate you."

"Liar. You love me."

"Stop moving." She glanced up at him, attempting to smile as she cleaned the gash from the switchblade just below his collarbone. She knelt against the inside of his thigh, her gentle touch carefully cleaning the broken skin, concentrating fully on his chest and the injury he had sustained. She twisted between his knees again, reaching over to the toilet seat for a bandage to go over the clasp, and she smiled faintly as he leaned forward only just, resting his forehead in the crook of her neck, and his fingers on her hips.

"I'm sorry I worried you." His apology was quiet, but it rumbled through her softly just the same.

"You're okay now. That's all that matters." She smoothed the end of the bandage over his collarbone, and brought her fingers up to tangle in the wayward curls at the nape of his neck, resting her other hand beside his hip on his thigh. "Although I don't know whether to kiss you for being alright, or punch you for making me worry." She smiled in full as she felt him laugh softly against her shoulder. He sat up, offering her a lopsided grin. He frowned though, upon seeing the dried tears on her cheeks, and reached up with the pad of his thumb to wipe the errant moisture away form her face.

It was then that he ceased to think.

Greg simply leaned over, closing the distance between them, and pressed his lips to hers.

She was surprised at first, but within moments granted him access, parting her lips only just, letting him in. His fingers pulled her closer still, and she responded to his quiet kiss, tightening her grip on his thigh. She pulled away reluctantly, and curved the side of her lip into a reassuring smile. She reached up and kissed his forehead, beside the bandage clasp, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his collarbone, before turning to face him again.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" She smiled at him almost mischievously, and arched an eyebrow at him, daring him to point out another injury. He bit back a grin as he realized that this had potential to get really dirty really quick. He shook his head, and leaned forward again to capture her lips with his own.

Greg was suddenly glad she didn't drag him to the hospital. He was fairly certain every possible activity that was running through his mind was vastly inappropriate for a public ER.

First aid indeed.

…

A/N: I'm a jerk with the lack of duckies and the lack of updates of transistions… I haven't forgotten, I'm not abandoning, I'm simply in the midst of the last week of the semester, erm, with lots of work to do. I didn't want to continue with the ducks series until I had an end in mind, and now that I do, I can begin to plot the path to get there from where I left off. Sorry, I'm a jerk… hope this tides you over lol.


End file.
